For Earth Too Dear
by Millikov
Summary: The account of the Passing of Celebrían to the Lands beyond the Great Sea. A collection of vignettes. Feedback and CC appreciated. -Finished-
1. For Earth too Dear

Disclaimer: Come on, if I actually owned this, Glorfindel would be in the movie. But he's not.   
  


For Earth Too Dear   
  
Celebrían wife of Elrond was journeying to Lórien when she was waylaid in the Redhorn Pass and her escort scattered by the sudden assault of Orcs, she was seized and carried off. She was pursued and rescued by Elladan and Elrohir, but not before she had suffered torment and received a poisoned wound. She was brought back to Imladris, and though healed in body by Elrond, lost all delight in Middle-earth, and the next year went to the Havens and passed over the Sea.

_-The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King,   
Appendix A—The North Kingdom and the Dúnedain_

  
  
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear,   
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows. _  
-William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet_

  
  
She sits on her mount, tall and proud, her fair face veiled by the hood of her elven cloak, strands of golden hair peeking out. I try to lead the escort at as slow a pace as possible, wanting to prolong the moments before she and I are parted. But I know that it is inevitable, the same way our paths merged, they now diverge. She will follow her own road, wherever it takes her, and I must do the same. Ai! All to soon we approach the coastline, the Grey Havens. I dismount and turn to help Celebrían, but already she has slid off her horse, and drawing back the hood of her cloak, walks gracefully across the beach toward the edge of the sea, the wind weaving through her hair, gently teasing her fair locks. Her flowing white dress whips behind her, fluttering solemnly like a banner, so I think. I follow her slowly, and we stand there, staring beyond the vast Sea, listening to the steady, quiet sound of water lapping onto the sand. We are immersed in our own thoughts, she and I, but I can stand the silence no longer, and turn to her.   
  
"Lady, would you depart from our midst so soon? Will you not linger a while?" I ask, so reluctant am I to be separated from her.   
  
A soft sigh escapes her lips and she turns to face me; Ah! She is beautiful, so wondrously fair of face in mine eyes, that the radiance of the Morning and the Evening, much as I cherish them, pales in comparison to that of this Elven lady. But the depths of her eyes shimmer with unspoken sadness and pain, with fatigue and weariness, as her lips stretch into a thin smile that does not reach the clear blue of her eyes. Celebrían's beauty has not diminished, no, instead it has transformed, beauty clings to her in a melancholic, bittersweet way.   
  
"Nay, Elrond Peredhil, nay," she says softly. "for the lure of what lies beyond the Sea is too great a temptation for me to resist, especially now, when I can dwell in this land no longer."   
  
All this I know, and it pains my heart even more to think of it. I can remember it so clearly, the steely determination in the eyes of my sons as they thundered off on their steeds in search of their Mother, the hint of a fierce desperation and recklessness about them. The face of Arwen was pale, and she trembled at the very thought of what misdeeds could have been done to Celebrían. I remember cradling the willowy, limp frame of the lady, covered in numerous lacerations, the color faded from her lips and cheeks, she was frail, frail as a flower in the dewy morning as it unfurls its fragile, crumpled petals, so very delicate, I was afraid I might smolder her as I lay her on the bed, praying that I had the means to heal her. But even so, I have only cured her in body, her mind is still troubled and plagued by what happened on that fateful day at the Redhorn Pass, she would not speak of what torment she had endured, not to anybody.   
  
Still I hesitate, and, never speaking a word, Celebrían reaches for my hands and clutches them in her slender ones, signifying the unspoken bond between us; her gaze is earnest, begging me to understand her plight. It is then that I find the courage to let her go. It is strange that I, who have lived many years and seen much joy, much sorrow; I who has survived through so many millennia cannot bear to be parted from my wife for a few hundred years! Truly, Celebrían deserves much more than what little I can offer her in this land plagued with conflict and trouble, hers is beauty for rich to use, for earth too dear. She belongs to a place where peace and happiness reign, where chaos and evil have no hold, where she can find healing. Middle-earth cannot give her any of these things. Sorrow envelops me; this is too much for one heart. There is naught I can do to dissuade Celebrían, even if I could, I would not; there is no other way to relieve her of her misery. No, I will not be so selfish as to deny my own wife comfort and peace of mind.   
  
"Well then, dearest Celebrían," I speak, "to the Uttermost West you must go. Your ship awaits you, lady."   
  
She reaches up and kisses my brow, a sweet, sad, smile upon her face, bitter is her sorrow. This parting is harder on her than it is on me, long has she grappled with this decision, and she has made her choice. I cannot begin to imagine the pain she must feel, having to be separated from all her kin. Ai, Celebrían, I grieve for you, for eve if you chose otherwise, your decision will result in unhappiness and woe for us all.   
  
"Look to the Sea, dear Elrond, and remember me, for I will always be there, waiting for you. We will meet again, and our reunion will be abound with much joy, for never again will I be separated from you, or Elladan, or Elrohir, or Arwen. Namarië!"   
  
_No_, I find myself thinking. _Nevermore will the Undómiel set foot in Valinor_.   
  
Ai, Elbereth, what are these unwelcome thoughts? Is foresight upon me once again? Whether this gift is a blessing or a curse, I do not know. But this is not the time to be pondering upon such matters, lo! Celebrían's ship is ready to depart. I scarcely notice Círdan, Keeper of the Grey Havens, who was been standing but a little ways from us, waiting patiently. Celebrían releases my hands from her grasp, and slowly turns away, the chilly wind of the Seas buffeting against our bodies. I wish I knew what she is thinking, that I might find some means to soothe the bitter pain. But no, she is an enigma; she has always been a mystery to those around her, like the light of the stars, beautiful, radiant, yet distant. A star that is dying, the flickering light fading, falling from brightness. And this is the only way to revive the star, that it might once again dazzle the earth as it sparkles against the black of night, shining brightly, though it will now be more remote than ever. That is the price to pay, and we must pay it.   
  
"_Namarië, muin Celebrían_," I whisper to her. "_namarië_."   
  
My eyes are upon her even as she smiles and glides up the gangplank, sorrow writ in her eyes, and with it, a shimmer of hope. And even as her ship sails away, her gaze is upon me, and I stand there, simply stand, on the shores of the Gulf of Lhûn, watching, till her ship disappears beyond the horizon.   
  
*_Namarië, muin Celebrían, namarië_— Farewell dear Celebrían, farewell.   
*Morning and the Evening refers to Galadriel and Arwen respectively, it is noted that those were what Gimli called them in RotK.   
  
Author notes: I do hope this is all right, I was very apprehensive about posting this, but I figured that if it was terrible, at least I'll get some constructive criticism, A comment about this from a friend and fellow ff.net-er that helped me work up the guts to post this was that apparently, it "really gives character to the guy who wears a tiara". Hmm…not so sure about that, but I tried. So tell me what you think, please do, I've always wanted to do a vignette like this, and I would appreciate the feedback, be it positive or no. -Millikov 


	2. Mother of Mine

Mother of Mine

  
  


_But her brothers, Elladan and Elrohir were out upon errantry: for they rode often far afield with the Rangers of the North, forgetting never their mother's torment in the dens of the orcs._

__

-The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring,   
Book Two, Chapter 1—Many Meetings

  
  
If I were hanged on the highest hill   
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine   
I know whose love would follow me still   
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine   
_- Rudyard Kipling, Mother o' mine_

  
  
She will leave us; she will depart to Valinor, how can she bring herself to do this? Can she truly find it in her heart to leave us, my brother and I, our sister Arwen, and Adar? Mother, dear Mother, would you add to sorrow more sorrow by departing? But can I blame her, my beloved mother? No, if there is anyone who must bear the blame for this separation, it is I. I failed her. I have regretted it, everyday for this past year. Ai, dear Naneth, if I had just found you sooner, you would not have been subjected to the torture you were put through, if only I had insisted on escorting you myself, I should have known better, should have known how unsafe it was for any being to journey through the Redhorn Pass, if only, Naneth, Mother, if only…   
  
Arwen's face is streaked with the tears that flow freely, eyes red, I put my arm around her, trying to comfort my distraught sister. My brother is seemingly stoic, but I know better, he feels the pain as acutely as I do.   
  
"Fret not, sister, grieve not," I whisper.   
  
"How can I not weep, brother?" She replies, sobbing. "My dearest mother is leaving, she has suffered so much already, we all have, can the Valar not be merciful and relieve her of her misery, that she would not have to sail to away? My heart pains at this parting, I love her dearly, how can I not weep?" To that, I do not have the answer. Arwen, sister, this is all my doing, because of my folly I had let our Mother venture into danger, this is the result of my actions, I have paid the price for my complacency. A faint noise causes us to look up, there she stands before us, the sun shining down upon her hair, crowning it in a halo of golden, the beauty and light of the stars flickering upon her brow, surrounding her. To me, my mother will always bear the very face of beauty itself; no evil can tarnish such wonder.   
  
"_I galad, ah, i galad! _" I whisper in awe, but even so, there is something different about my Mother, something different about the glow of her beauty, something subtle, something elusive, and it troubles me. "Mother…ai…" Arwen, unable to suppress her grief, flings herself into mother's arms, and mother, in turn, holds her tightly, and soothes her with words in her quiet, calming voice.   
  
"Shh, my little Undómiel, dearest daughter, bright Evenstar," she says, stroking Arwen's dark hair, speaking to her as if Arwen is once again the young maiden whom she cradled as a child and sang to sleep. Watching the serene face of my mother, my brother and I impulsively drop to our knees in front of her.   
  
"Mother," I say, my eyes on the ground. "I am sorry."   
  
"As am I," echoes my brother.   
  
"My sons, what has possessed you to apologize to me, when you have done no wrong?" comes the melodious, slightly startled voice of my Mother.   
  
"Naneth, I have wronged you, I have hurt you, it was I had caused you grievous harm," bursts out my brother, his fists clenched in agony, the guilt consuming us two. "It was not my brother, Naneth, it was I," I refuse to let my brother take the blame for what was caused by us two.   
  
"Nay, dearest, what madness is this? You two have never done anything to cause me grief!"   
  
"But we have, we have!" I reply, the guilt consuming me.   
  
"That day, mother, the day before you departed to Lórien." Says my brother, his voice low. "We asked if you would have us to escort you, and you declined. In our folly, we thought that none would dare harm you, that the Redhorn Pass was but a path to the Golden Woods, we had not the wit to think of what danger might befall you."   
  
"And because of our complacency and laziness, you…fell into the hands of…of evil. We should have insisted that we accompany you, then it may be that none it would have come to this, maybe-"   
  
"No, my son, speak no more," my Mother says, bending down and placing a finger upon my lips, entreating silence from me. Her face tightens and she closes her eyes, I fear that she will weep, no, I cannot bear it if she did, I would rather bear the burden of my wrongs for all the Ages rather than beg forgiveness if the memory of what happened will bring her more pain, I will give anything to take back what I have just said. But swiftly as it came, the moment passes, and I find myself once again staring at beauty unparalleled, sweet and loving.   
  
"'Tis not your fault, my sons, it was never your fault," speaks my Mother, softly. "I assured you that there was no such need to escort me. If anything, I brought what happened upon myself." My brother and I simultaneously open our mouths to protest, but stop when Mother speaks again.   
  
"But, my beloved sons," she continues, "what is done, is done. What has come to pass cannot be reversed; we must take no other road than the one that leads us forward. Forward, always forward, never looking back. Remember that, dearest kinsmen."   
  
She suddenly leans forward and embraces us both, and I cling to her, never wanting to let go. But I know what I must do. She will be strong for us, and I too, must do the same for her. As she releases us, and we stand, I force myself to smile, and gently kiss her cheek.   
  
"Will you accompany your _atar_ and I to the Grey Havens?" Mother addresses the three of us.   
  
Arwen shakes her head, as do my brother and I. Watching her as her ship departs would be too much of finality, too certain a closure, and I cannot bear to see her passing, neither can my siblings. And I am sure that Atar would want to spend the last moments with her alone, before they are separated. But I cannot help but feel a pang of worry; the memory of what happened still haunts me, but Glorfindel, Elf-lord, strides up and claps a reassuring hand on my shoulder.   
  
"I will protect your Father and Mother with my life, if it should come to that," he says, and I nod, trusting in the wisdom, courage and strength of one so valiant.   
  
Mother mounts her horse, her raiment white yet glimmering silver, and the wind in her hair. Atar and their escort follow suit, Glorfindel behind Naneth and Atar, Lindir in the rear. Mother smiles at us, but does not bid us farewell, and I would not have her do so, I do not want to be faced with the confirmation of her departure, I would rather her leave without saying her farewells, as if she were merely on a short journey elsewhere. Then, they are gone, all of them, in what seems to be too hasty a departure, but she must go, be it sooner or later, I think it better if she departs so suddenly, rather than linger on and prolong the sorrow. I will see her again; I know, but even so, my heart pains at this separation.   
  
_What is done, is done._   
  
I shut my eyes and clench my fists, almost as if I would will the hurt away.   
  
_What has come to pass cannot be reversed._   
  
I hear someone calling my name, and open my eyes to see my brother standing in front of me, with him, our horses.   
  
"Shall we?" he cracks the faintest of smiles, and I can see the long absent glint of mischief in his eyes, and, for the first time in a long while, I can feel the faint, restless stirring in my heart.   
  
I do not reply, but swing myself up on my steed, as does he.   
  
"Will you ride with us, sister?" I ask Arwen.   
  
"Nay, brothers," is her reply. "I will retreat to the gardens to be in solace. You must thunder on, I must find my peace in isolation."   
  
"Then come, brother! We ride!"   
  
_We must take no other road than the one that leads us forward._   
  
I am flying, the ground is my air, the vast, endless plains are mine to conquer, mine to rediscover. The wind is my ally, it sends me soaring, the elation of freedom and recklessness is coursing through me. I turn to glance at my brother and catch his eye, his head is thrown back, he is laughing, singing, I do not know, I hear only the music of happiness. It seems to me that the sound is as wondrous as the Music of the Ainur, the Ainur created this music of laughter, it is the most beautiful melody, the sweetest sound of the earth. The elven bards can create their tunes, but they will never rival this. I smile at my brother and let out a yell of elation, my voice blending in with the thundering of hooves.   
  
"_Nahar! Nahar! Noro lim, Nahar_!" cries my brother, though not to his steed, his voice ringing, as we ride on the creatures of Oromë, and the Valier Nessa seems to be with us as we ride faster, faster, swifter still, racing onward, rushing forward.   
  
_Forward, always forward, never looking back._   
  
Then I see her. The face of my Mother as when my Brother and I found her, contorted in pain, tears upon her cheeks, beauty transformed to anguish and sorrow, into suffering and grief. No, Mother, Ai!   
  
I look to my brother for support, but I find that he too, bears the expression of one remembering pain, and I am filled with sorrow.   
  
Our steeds have halted. The exhilaration is gone, the earth is but earth, lifeless and dull, the wind but a breath of passing air, and the skies are unreachable.   
  
"Brother," I call softly to him. "Come,"   
  
He nods, and we turn our horses, riding slowly, wearily back to Rivendell, accepting, with a grim resignation, that we would forever be haunted by the knowledge of what torment our dearest Mother has endured.   
  
_Remember that, dearest kinsmen._   
  
I tried Mother, I tried. _  
  
I galad, ah, i galad!_ —The Light, ah, the Light!   
_Naneth_—Mother   
_Atar_—Father   
_Nahar! Nahar! Noro lim, Nahar!_ —Nahar, Nahar! Ride fast, Nahar!   
Nahar is the steed of the Valar Oromë.   
Glorfindel and Lindir are Elves of Rivendell. Glorfindel first appears in "Flight to the Ford", Lindir in "Many Meetings   
Valier—The female derivation of "Valar", according to the Silmarillion. 


	3. And You, My Father

And You, My Father

  
  
_"Now it is time to drink the cup of farewell," she said. "Drink, Lord of the Galadhrim!"_

  
-The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring,   
Book Two, Chapter Eight-Farewell to Lórien

  
  
And you, my father, there on sad height,   
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.   
_-Dylan Thomas, Do not Go Gentle into that Good Night_

  
  
"Have you truly made up your mind, Celebrían?"   
  
"Yes, Atar, truly." Replies she.   
  
"That is good, all right," I say. "I would not want you to depart still questioning your decision."   
  
Standing at the edge of Caras Galadhon, anxious thoughts race through my mind. Will she truly find peace in Valinor? Will she despair and fade if separated from her Kin? But I say naught, I trust my daughters judgement. I absently pick the yellow blossom, fallen from a mellyrn-tree from my shoulder, and try to think of something to say to my Daughter. Some words of comfort, or of wisdom, or of love, but words fail me, and we stand in silence. Though I love her well, I have never shared the firm bond of fatherly affection for her, and I found it startling that she should ask for a private audience with me and not her mother first.   
  
"Well, _atar_?" bottled frustration and confusion finally burst out, and I survey Celebrían in mild surprise. Rarely has my daughter ever raised her voice at anyone, much less her parents. "Will you not reprimand me, chide me, question me? Will you not reassure me, or comfort me, or counsel me? Will you not damn or bless me? Are you merely going to stand there stoically till I take my leave?" I see that there are tears in her eyes, threatening to spill over.   
  
"Do you despise me for abandoning my Kinsmen?" she chokes out. "If so, curse me! If not, why will you not love me?"   
  
The years of maturity and wisdom seem to have fallen from Celebrían, the one standing before me is not Celebrían, Lady of Rivendell, Wife and Mother, but Celebrían, daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel. This is the young babe of so long ago who used to try to scale mallorn-trees and play Galadriel's harp. The elf-child who so oft sang with her mother songs and Elven hymns. The one who would slip her hand into Galadriel's, who would run to her Mother every night for a kiss and a cuddle. Her mother. Never her father. In this moment of hurt and remembrance, I suddenly see one last image of Celebrían, one that I have failed to notice in all my years.   
  
The young elf-maiden, so awed by her father, who desperately wanted to please him, to earn his approval, who would be willing to do anything for even a slight smile, a small hint of love from him. And now, the same elf-maiden seeking consent and love from her father. It was my wife who cared enough to spend every waking minute with her, it was Galadriel who knew her story, the story in which I played but a small part.   
  
Have I really grown so distant from my daughter? Ai, Elbereth Gilthoniel forgive me, 'tis my fault, it is my fault and not hers, it was never hers.   
  
"Celebrían, _nin muin sell_," I sigh, gathering my daughter into my arms.   
  
"_Atar-_"   
  
And that is enough for the two of us.   
  
She clings to me as I embrace her, tears leaking out from her eyes and spilling onto my robe. But not tears of frustration. Tears of joy, and of forgiveness. Words are not needed, words fail to express my regret and sorrow. But I know that I am forgiven.   
  
"You had best go see your Mother now," I tell my daughter. "She is waiting for you."   
  
Pulling away, Celebrían dries her eyes with a kerchief and smiles at me, a ray of sunshine peeping through the swirls of gloom that has engulfed her life.   
  
"Come daughter, let us go," I say, turning, and she slips her hand into mine. I look at her, startled, though I can not help but smile. I see beyond the pain in her eyes to the faint flicker of happiness as we walk into Calas Galadhon.   
  
"I have yet to bid you farewell, _atar_," she comments.   
  
"Nay, daughter, 'farewell' is but a word that adds more gloom to sorrow, speak it not to me." I say. "But how will you face Elrond and your children?"   
  
She sighs, her fair face distressed, brow furrowed.   
  
"I will face them." Is her answer. "It will not be easy, but I will face them."   
  
Again we lapse into silence, though it is not the awkward tension, but a comfortable, pensive stillness of two deep in thought. When at last we draw near to the foot of my dwelling, the tall mallorn-tree with its grey trunk and yellow blossoms, where Galadriel is waiting, our pace slackens.   
  
"Would you prefer to converse in private with your mother?" I ask Celebrían. "If so, I will retreat, for also have matters to attend to."   
  
"Thank you, _atar_," She reaches up to kiss my cheek. "There, that is my parting gift to you. Know that even when I have passed over the Sea, there will never be a day where I will not think of you, or of _naneth_."   
  
"Truly, dearest daughter?" my voice betrays my feelings, the slight note of grief in it.   
  
"Truly _atar_," The bittersweet smile of sorrow is upon her face. "Truly." 

  
  
Remember the Stars. They give you light.   
Remember the Earth. Through it you stand firm.   
Remember the Sea. She sings to you.   
Remember the Wind, and the cool gentle breeze.   
Remember your Children, they will remember you.   
Remember your Spouse, who loves you well.   
Remember your Mother. She took your hand,   
And led you into the World.   
Remember your Father. He gave you life.   
Remember.

  
  
- Fini -

  
  
*_Nin muin sell_--my dearest daughter   
*_Atar_--Father   
*_Naneth_--Mother   
  
Special thanks to AfterEver for her invaluable Constructive Criticism, and to AJ Burress-Crowell for her very helpful and very insightful comments. Thank you to all my fantastic reviewers. And of course, thank you to Tolkien. Praise him with great praise!  
-Millikov 


End file.
